


everything changes, nothing perishes

by Gayrefrain (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Religious Themes, a fun mash-up of book and show, accidental parents!au, adopting a child accidentally!au, and their new daughter is a miraculous disaster, another armaggedon, basically my pitch for the sequel series, crowley and aziraphale are gay disasters, falling in love but being idiots about it, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Gayrefrain
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley adopt a young runaway and accidentally start the second Apocalypse.





	1. Hebrews 13:2

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly sure what this is just go with me on it. Thanks for giving this a look!

> Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.

Aziraphale had always considered himself something of an anthropologist. Six thousand years of studying the humans and living amongst them had given an interesting perspective. Had that perspective gotten him kicked out of Heaven? Absolutely. But he had no regrets.

Humans were so fascinating. They told stories to loved ones, and to strangers. They kissed to show affection, and squeezed each other in a hug to do the same. They went to war for what they believed in, and they laughed when things were good. Their eyes leaked when they were sad. 

He had read lots of books in his time on Earth, and he found there were only eleven types of stories. But he could read each version of those eleven every day. For each author adding something a little different. _Phantom Tollbooth_ and _Harry Potter_ were basically the same story, but each had their own adaptations that allowed them to be vibrant.

Crowley always mocked him for it, but he was the same with movies, the former angel knew that. Perhaps it was another way they’d gone native, being susceptible to stories. 

But that wasn’t the moment Aziraphale had realized he had fully gone human.

It wasn’t even when the Demons accused him, as Crowley, of it.

It was when they found a girl, post her breaking into his apartment.

+

Crowley and Aziraphale walked the dreary London streets, after a marvelous lunch at a new Thai place, and Crowley’s back immediately went up at the sight of Aziraphale’s bookshop’s door, ajar when he was _certain_ they’d locked it.

“What the hell?” Aziraphale exclaimed, stumbling backwards slightly. 

“Stay behind me, Angel,” Crowley demanded, and the two of them walked into the shop. They had to be careful, because getting discorporated when they were both persona non gratae in their respective home offices was not going to go well for either of them. 

“The bookshop is fine,” Aziraphale sounded shocked, looking around. “Nothing out of place.”

“How can you possibly know that?” The demon asked. He couldn’t understand how someone so holy could stand such a deplorable mess.

“ _I_ know the organization structure.”

“You mean the fact there isn’t one?” 

“I-”

Crowley heard something upstairs, and covered the cherub’s mouth with a lightning quick hand. “There’s someone upstairs.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale murmured against his palm, his breath soft and somewhat sweet, even to his hand, causing him to pull it away. “Should we call the police now?”

Crowley sneered.

“I know you don’t like them, but we might have to approach this as humans. If a human were to discover a break-in, they would-”

“Well, we still aren’t humans, though we might be neither angels nor demons, so let’s just deal with it ourselves.”

Aziraphale hesitated, face scrunching up before admitting defeat. “Alright.”

Together, they walked upstairs to Aziraphale’s flat, still the mess they’d left it. Crowley stealthily slithered across the floor, managing to do so in his non-snake form.

The door was ajar, and he kept his guard up. They snuck through quietly, peering around. So far, nothing seemed out of place.

On the kitchen floor, a young girl, anywhere from ten to twenty, he was so bad at guessing humans’ ages, ate the fresh fruit he knew Aziraphale liked to leave out in a blue bowl, saying it “reminds me of paintings.” Right now, she bit a mighty chunk into a green apple. 

Her hair was long, tangled, and ruddy blonde, almost right in between his and Aziraphale’s shades. Her skin was slightly dark, a nice contrast to her light hair. Her clothes were threadbare, and grimy, but she looked like she carried no weapons.

Crowley reached for a heavy book anyway, and raised it slightly, as if to crack a stubborn nut. With an aghast look, Aziraphale smacked the book out of his hands, and it hit the floor with a _thud!_

The girl looked up, green eyes wide in terror.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale began. “What are you doing here?”

She swallowed and ran, but Crowley was faster, and caught her upper arm in his hand. She was practically bone. 

She didn’t thrash in his grip, she practically deflated like a helium balloon out of air. “I’m so sorry,” She said, voice hoarse like it had been scraped with sandpaper. “I was just so hungry.” 

“And so you broke into a bookshop?” Crowley questioned. “Wow, girl, you should’ve tried a place with something edible.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, she’s terrified, let her go.”

Crowley didn’t, “So why break into a bookshop then?”

“I’d heard the owner of this place was nice,” She said, and looked him in the eyes with a sudden steel. “Apparently, I was misinformed.” 

Impressed, Crowley chuckled and let her go. “Fortunately, for you, I am not the owner of this establishment. That’s him.” He jerked a head to his companion. The girl didn’t run away, but her head was ducked, like she was awaiting punishment. Something about that twisted unsettlingly in his gut. 

“Here, I have some leftovers, they have more sustenance,” Aziraphale said. “Come, sit at the table, and we’ll sort this all out. My name is A.Z. Fell, and this is my associate Anthony Crowley."

Hearing their human names always made the space between his shoulder blades, where his wings curled, twitch. Why couldn't humans go for mononyms for non-celebrities. Hell, Madonna going by only one name was _his_ idea. 

"And you are?” Aziraphale continued, oblivious to Crowley's inner monologue.

She winced, and said, “Pennyroyal.” 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said as Crowley snorted. “Well... Pennyroyal, let’s get you fed.” He lead the girl back to the kitchen.

Crowley rolled his eyes downward, then upward just in case, and had a feeling things were about to be irreparably changed. 


	2. Galatians 4:14

> and even though my illness was a trial to you, you did not treat me with contempt or scorn. Instead, you welcomed me as if I were an angel of God, as if I were Christ Jesus himself

Aziraphale and Crowley kept Pennyroyal company throughout her meal, neither wanting to leave the other alone with her, even though she was so frail she couldn’t hurt a fly.

After her eating slowed to leisure instead of fervor, Aziraphale decided to begin a gentle questioning. “So, Pennyroyal-”

“Please don’t call me that,” She said, food spitting out of her mouth a little. “ _He_ named me that, and I don’t want to be called it.”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Crowley asked. 

The girl went silent. That seemed like a question she was not ready to answer.

Luckily, Aziraphale had plenty to ask. “Is there a name you’d like us to call you?”

The girl hesitated, “I don’t know many.”

“We can throw some out, narrow it down at least,” Crowley said, looking like the picture of casual in his chair, but Aziraphale knew him well enough to sense the tension, his fingers clenched in a fist, his tapping toes. “Jezebel?” He threw out.

“Now seriously, Crowley.”

“It’s a name, innit?”

“I don’t like it,” The girl piped up.

“What about Eve?” Aziraphale offered. A great name for a woman. 

She made a face.

“Rahab?” Crowley asked with a wicked glint. She shook her head.

“Mary?”

Another no.

“Lot’s wife?”

“That’s not even a name!” Aziraphale berated, then had to think of another. “What about Sarah?”

The girl shook her head once more.

The two former members of rival offices volleyed more biblical names, then random names, but the girl originally known as Pennyroyal denied each one. 

Finally, at the same time, they blurted, “LILITH.”

“Lilith...” The girl tested it out then smiled. “I like it.”

“Ha!” Crowley crowed in victory. “She picked a demon name.”

“What?” The girl- Lilith- looked confused. 

“She picked a perfectly wonderful name,” Aziraphale nearly hissed, then remembered he was a celestial being. Hopefully. Angels, even former Angels, don’t hiss. “Nice to meet you, Lilith. Now that that’s settled, can you please tell me why you broke into my bookstore and flat?”

Her eyes ducked down again, “I ran away from the community.”

“What community?”

Lilith hesitated before answering, “The Order of the Poisoned Flowers.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Aziraphale asked, after giving himself a moment. He looked to Crowley to see if he understood, and from the way his lips curled in a genuine sneer, it seemed it was familiar. 

“One of Ligur’s more brilliant temptations,” His companion said, distaste dripping off his tongue. “He convinced a man, Erik Rye, the apocalypse was coming and that he was to lead true-believers to safety. Basic cult nonsense. They live over in rural Whitby, and there’s about a hundred or so.”

“What’s with the Poisoned Flowers bit?”

“The Messiah- I mean, Mr. Erik said we were all flowers tainted with death,” Lilith said. “But we could still heal. When we joined, we took on new flowers. My name was Susan, and he made me change it to Pennyroyal. But neither feel right anymore.”

“How did you join the Order?” Aziraphale said. 

“My father liked the idea,” Lilith said. “We joined when I was four, and I’m thirteen now. He said the world was going to end two years ago, but it didn’t.”

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look. Eek.

“And the cult got weird...er. We used to plant for food, but now we sold the food and sold quilts, and had to learn to make quilts instead of attending our school. We had to craft constantly, and the- Mr. Erik, kept talking about arranging marriages between the children.” 

The girl placed her hands in her lap, and her lips started to quiver. “I wanted us to leave, but my father still believed in... Mr. Erik. I knew if I was going to live, I had to go. I snuck onto a turnip truck and got to London last week. I slept on the street, but it was scary. I overheard someone talk about this place, so I thought I could get help.”

“What help do you need?”

Lilith hesitated, “I don’t know, I’ve never done this before.” 

“It seems to me,” Aziraphale said. “You need a place to rest for tonight. You can sleep in the bed, I’ll take the sofa-”

Like lightning, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist and tugged him to the other side of the room. 

“Have you losst your bloody marblesss?” Crowley hissed, a hiss so true he couldn’t believe he didn’t immediately turn into a snake. “The girl can’t stay here, what if she robs you blind?”

“She was out on the _street,_ Crowley, I’m not letting that happen to her again if I can stop it.” 

Crowley glowered, but Aziraphale refused to waver. He knew this was the good and right thing to do. And if he lost some possessions, so be it. 

“Fine,” He acquiesced, but scowled. “But I’m staying here too. Miracle me another sofa, Angel, because I’m not leaving you alone.”

“You’re really going to let me stay?” She looked so hopeful. When they nodded, she beamed. “Yes! Thank you, sirs, I promise, I won’t steal or anything. I just want somewhere safe to sleep. And it doesn’t have to be the bed, you can have it. I’m small, I can mind the sofa.”

Aziraphale went to demure, but Crowley agreed, “Perfect. Girl, let’s clean up the mess here before Aziraphale makes it worse.”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but did not manage to tamper down his smile.

That night, Aziraphale changed into his sleepclothes, a nightgown not unlike the father in _The Night Before Christmas_ would wear. While he rarely ever truly slept, he liked to hole up in the room in his comfiest clothes and read throughout the night. 

Crowley, he knew, slept like he was a human. He loved it. But he had never seen him do it before. 

And was almost shocked at his pajama choices. 

“Black silk? Are you serious?” 

“What?” With serpentine eyes, he looked down at his own clothes, a black silk button down and black silk shorts. “These cost 400 pounds.”

“First of all, I know that’s not what you paid for them.” Crowley grinned wickedly, tongue partially out. “Second, how is that comfortable?”

“Style far outweighs comfort, Angel.”

“But who are you trying to impress, it’s just your bed!” He blurted that out, then stifled himself just too late. Crowley was a tempter demon, of course he knew the sins of the flesh. Was probably well versed in them too. 

Crowley just shrugged, “Never know who’s watching.”

The deflection was oddly reassuring, not mentioning any specific bedfellows. 

“Besides,” The former demon added. “The idea of us sleeping is all a show, might as well look our best. We have to make it look convincing for the kid, and we should at least rest our corporeal forms. Don’t you feel better after a good night’s rest? We need to be absolutely alert in case anything happens with the girl.” 

Aziraphale stifled a yawn, “You don’t need to tempt me into b- _sleep_ , dear boy.” He caught himself in time. 

“Good to know” was all the serpent said in response. Until a moment passed. “Now stick to your side of the bed, because I know you kick.”

A blush took over the angel’s face in thought of the night they spent together back in Rome a couple thousand years ago, as fresh as it was yesterday. Sometimes, his history with Crowley had such a way of sneaking up on him, though he often took it as a given.

“I’ll restrain myself,” Aziraphale offered and crawled into the sheets. One of his omnipresent books was on the bedside table, a classic of Poe’s, and he settled into read it. With a tap of his fingers, the lamp next to hit illuminated the room.

Crowley hissed, a sudden reaction to light, not seeming hateful, “How much longer are you going to read?”

“Until I fall asleep, I suppose.”

“Which Poe is that?” Crowley twisted himself to look around at the title. “ _The Fall of the House of Usher_? Yeah, you’ll be out like a light soon.”

Aziraphale stammered out a halfhearted defense of the Poe story, but Crowley had already pulled the sheets up with his nightmask on and seemed to disengage.

Sighing, he closed the book and turned out the light. Probably best to practice sleeping.


	3. 1 Peter 4:12

> Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you

When Crowley awoke, there was someone between his legs.

Centuries of being a solitary being, with only one person to trust just enough to spend the day with, he didn’t spend the nights with many. And if he did, they didn’t stay the night. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he woke to someone in his bed. 

He turned to Aziraphale, messy blonde hair across tan sheets. His eyes were still closed, and his right leg was between Crowley’s own. 

“‘Spose it’s better than kicking,” Crowley said after allowing himself a moment to enjoy the warmth. 

Aziraphale’s blue eyes fluttered open, then flew wide completely. 

“Oh my,” He said and pulled away. It was cold again. “I apologize.” 

“No need, Angel,” Crowley pulled away as well. 

They physically got up and out of bed, Crowley a bit more frantic in his haste to investigate the state of the flat. He was vaguely surprised that the kid was still asleep on the sofa. Nothing looked out of place, and he sensed no hatred. Just calm, which could be spooky, as she awoke.

“Hallo,” She greeted hesitantly.

“Anyone hungry?” Aziraphale smiled. “I heard a new brunch place opened that does _marvelous_ things with French toast.” 

It was supposed to be for one night, but the girl went to help with the bookstore to help clean to make up for the break in. But the angel said she worked hard and they can wait one more night as she rested. 

That was three weeks ago, and she’d been there each night. 

Every night she stayed, Crowley made sure to as well. The angel and the demon kept sharing the same bed, and the girl took the sofa. They would have breakfast, or order takeout, so she wouldn’t starve. And, of course, Aziraphale probably loved the chance to explore more cuisine. 

The kid would read a book at the Angel’s request, Aziraphale would read an old favorite, and Crowley would listen to music or watch Netflix. He couldn’t tell if the site was miraculous or sinful but he enjoyed it all the same. 

For clothes, she would wear Aziraphale’s sweaters, things he insisted he’d wear then never give up his favorite ensemble, and pairs of his pants that had _miraculously_ gone down to her size. 

While Crowley still thought Aziraphale was playing with hellfire, he didn’t necessarily blame the angel for his instinct to be compassionate. He remembered those days. 

But near a month had passed, and he needed to give a stern talking to the girl. 

“C’mon, girl,” Crowley said as she and Aziraphale were dusting the bookshelves in the shoppe. “We’re on a mission today.”

“Crowley...” His companion said with warning. “If you’re planning something-”

“Just planning a shopping trip,” He said with an affected air of innocence. “She can’t keep wearing your sweaters, and not just because they’re ugly. Let me take her shopping.”

“Is that alright with you, Lilith?” Aziraphale asked. 

The kid played with the duster, fingers trailing over the Swiffer’s faux feathers. “I’m not going back? To the community?”

“Just to the shops,” Crowley reassured. “We’ll be back by supper.” 

The girl looked hesitant, a mood she favored probably because it was safest, but she nodded.

“Can I come?”

“No, I’d get distracted giving _you_ a much needed makeover,” He said. “This is for me and the kid.”

Aziraphale sighed, “Very well. Have fun, Crowley, Lilith.” 

In the car, they drove to a mall not too far from SoHo. Malls had been a demonic invention, a convergence of crowds, designed for them to experience greed and gluttony all at once, and tempt them into purchases they did not need. He claimed responsibility for putting giant department stores in them, but that was just run-of-the-mill human greed.

For several reasons, he kept his speed below 70 miles per hour. The most important reason being, he’d probably have to go back to Hell if he discorporated. The second most important being, after driving this car through hellfire, he did not feel like losing it again. 

And somewhere low on the list, he had a child in the car who could not regenerate if they were to suddenly crash.

“Why a shopping trip?” She asked, turning down ‘Father to Son’ as it blared on the Bentley’s speakers. “Are we really just going to buy clothes?”

“You’re a suspicious thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” She said honestly. “I know you don’t like me, so I don’t get you doing a nice thing.”

“First of all, kid, I’m not nice,” He had to set that straight. “Second, I don’t not like you.”

“You like me?” She sounded pleasantly surprised.

“Eh...let’s not go that far,” Crowley said. “I like that you haven’t robbed my best friend blind, and I like that you put in good work.”

“Work was all I did back at the community,” She said. “But it never felt like it was for me, it was only for- Mr. Erik. I do the work to help Mr. Fell, but it feels like it’s for me too. It’s odd, but it’s rewarding.”

“You call him Mr. Fell?” Crowley raised a brow, turning to look at her so she got the full effect. How’d he not notice that earlier?

“Watch the road!” She berated. Only when he did, did she answer, “Yes, it’s respect.”

“You’ve been staying at his for almost a month, darling, might as well call him by his name.”

“And what’s that?” 

In six thousand millennia, he could not for the life of him think of what the A.Z. of A.Z. Fell stood for. He honestly felt kind of miffed about it. He told _him_ that the J in Anthony J. Crowley was meaningless. Why can’t Aziraphale be so forthcoming? 

“Just call him AZed,” Crowley evaded. “Probably simplest, Occam's razor and all that.” 

“Maybe AZ, like the American zee,” The kid compromised. “And what do I call you? Still Mr. Crowley?”

“I dunno, I guess I prefer AJ, if we’re sticking to initials.”

“AJ and AZ,” She said the pairs of letters with a heavy weight. “I like it.”

“Good to know,” He said, and pulled into the mall.

At the mall, Crowley had never seen such a wide-eyed youth. She went to every store, even ones not having her in mind as their target audience, and had to touch nearly every fabric. “They’re all just together! Not kept separate!” She kept saying, and he winced thinking about one of those biblical rules about mixing fabrics that fell out of fashion, pardon the pun.

“What are you in the mood for then?” Crowley said as she ran through Nordstrom’s. “Dresses, slacks, pajamas? You can’t keep wearing those God awful sweaters.” 

“I _like_ the sweaters,” The kid insisted, then looked at a t-shirt that said _ON FLEEK_ on it. “But I guess it would be nice to wear my own clothes.”

“What’d you wear back at the Community?”

“We wore smocks,” She said. “Just like wearing a rectangle.” 

Crowley scowled, “Ugh, did no one understand fashion?”

“I would read magazines,” She said. “When they didn’t notice. They had them to recycle, so I would sneak peeks, and experienced the vanity of wanting to look better. I always wanted to wear a romper.”

“Well, let’s find a bloody romper then,” Crowley said, and realized a bit belatedly that his recon mission to figure out this girl was going to end with a dent in his wallet.

She went everywhere, but was surprisingly reserved in her choices. She chose dresses, shirts, shorts and pants, all grey or pink. “My favorite colors,” She said in defense when he encouraged her to try black. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Crowley interrupted when she placed another sensible packet of socks in the cart. She froze. “Everything you bought is so blessedly _practical_ and _reasonable_ ,” He sneered the words. “Get something ridiculous or this whole thing’s off.” 

She looked around the store with a discerning eye, then absolutely lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw a jumpsuit in bright pink with realistic-looking cacti all over it.

“You want that?” He couldn’t help but ask.

She pouted, “You said ridiculous, and it is. Plus, I think it’s neat.” 

Crowley sighed, the kid knew how to listen to instructions in the most annoying way possible, he had to give her that. “Throw it in the cart.” 

In the car ride back to A.Z. Fell’s (his curiosity had eaten away at him the entire shopping excursion and he would _not_ be able to let it go) apartment, Crowley gave Aziraphale a text to let the angel know they were on their way back, and had shopped themselves into a feeding frenzy.

“Don’t text and drive,” The kid said, and took his phone from his grip. Damn his smooth, uncalloused fingers. “I’ll text him, keep your eyes on the road.”

Crowley sneered but obeyed. 

“His contact name has the name Aziraphale. Is that his name?”

“Yes, but he’s embarrassed about it,” Crowley lied.

“Oh okay, I won’t call him that. Why do you call him ‘Angel?’ After his name, you have the angel emoji, and you call him that a lot.”

“I dunno, why do people call anybody anything?” 

“Fair,” She said then trailed off. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Why did you take me shopping? And buy me all those clothes?”

Crowley pulled over, nearly hitting a cyclist, but they knew the risks of biking in London. He turned to her. “I’ll tell you the truth, kid. I did because I wanted to vet you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Make sure you were worthy of stayin’ at my friend’s place, and that you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“You waited until three weeks after I’ve been staying with you?”

Crowley nearly laughed, “I never said I was punctual.”

Her hands went to her lap, and she fiddled with them. “And what did you find?”

“Eh, that you’re perfectly respectable, which I’m not a fan of.” That caused her to give him a surprised and distasted look, which he relished. “But my friend is, both respectable and a fan of respectable folk. And that’s what matters. Plus, you’re interesting, and I am a big fan of interesting times.” 

“Thank you, I guess,” She said. “I think you’re interesting too.”

“Really?”

“I like people with good face tattoos,” She said. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.” 

And he definitely laughed then.

Lilith was interesting, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of Lilith, I'm still trying to figure out her characterization. Thank you so much for reading!


	4. Psalm 144:12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of past abuse, but nothing graphic.

> Then our sons in their youth will be like well-nurtured plants, and our daughters will be like pillars carved to adorn a palace.

In Lilith’s eyes, staying with Aazee and AJ was the best thing that happened to her. They believed in the small comforts, like A/C when it was hot, and getting ice cream when it was _really_ hot. (Aazee always got some massive sundae, while AJ only got a little fruit popsicle. She liked to order somewhere in between, but mostly she liked when AJ teased Aazee about his order, biting yet playful.) 

AJ would let her play games on his phone, and he seemed especially proud of Temple Run. Aazee would tell her all about books and food. They watched the Great British Bake Off, and went off to the park to feed the ducks. 

They did all the little things well, if she was cold, she’d get a blanket. They let her pick the shows they watched, and let her go on about the books she’d read that day. They got her an appointment with Aazee’s barber, and now her hair skirted her shoulders, no longer the weight it once was.

She liked working in the bookstore, especially since the goal was _not_ to sell things. Back in the community, she had to work so hard to get people to buy their wares on the side of the road. The fruits, the pillows, she had to be “cuter,” her father kept saying. She had to convince the boys and the men that stopped by to buy more, even by flirting though that was supposed to be a sin. It made her feel uncomfortable, but he insisted.

If she didn’t sell enough, she’d be punished. Denied meals, spanked, even caned once when she started crying in front of a customer. 

She still remembered the feeling weighing down her gut like it was made of lead. 

In the calmness of Aazee’s flat, she made herself take a deep breath as the memories clutched at the corners of her mind. 

She worked to ground herself. She was wearing the pajamas AJ had just bought her, a big t-shirt with plants on them, and soccer shorts since the London humidity was rising.

She read _Anne of Green Gables_ , a second edition printing. She felt unworthy to read the first editions, so they compromised on second printings.

AJ was out fetching the food for dinner, and Aazee was reading on of the other chairs. A record player played Beethoven, and he hummed to the beat of “Fidelio.” 

She smiled as she studied him briefly, and thought of the big things the pair did for her. They got her clothes, and kept her fed. They always made sure there was hot water. When she had nightmares, Aazee would often be there. He’d speak in soothing tones and read to her until she fell back asleep. 

One memorable time, AJ was there. She had fallen off the sofa at the memory of a threat from the Messiah, with his dark eyes, and Crowley was by her on the comfy chair. Close, but plenty of space. 

“I have nightmares too,” He said simply, he wore an eye mask instead of his practically trademark sunglasses. “I fall, and never hit the ground.”

“Just falling?” She asked. She’d never been so up in the air to justify a fear of heights, just a lack of exposure. 

“Some people think the impact is the worst part,” He said, almost as if she didn’t speak. “But it’s the fall. Especially if you don’t know where you land.”

“Do you ever know where you land? I- In the dream?”

AJ laughed but it had no joy, “That I know very well, darling, but the falling down and looking up was the worst.” He shook his head. “What about you?”

And so she told him about the things she’d remembered more vividly in dreams from her time with the Poisoned Flowers. And she’d see his fists clench. 

“Don’t worry, Lilith,” He reassured. “You won’t be going back.”

Their things weren’t always that serious. This was the man who screamed at the few plants in Aazee’s home, and would drive fifty miles over the speed limit. He’d drink and giggle, but never seem to have a hangover. He’d tell wild stories about his family’s history, his relatives seemed to know everyone.

Aazee was still the same man who would convince customers to not buy a book, or who would randomly decide to close the store, just so they could get pavlova. He would tell her kind, soft stories, and tales of the best foods he’d ever tasted. He even taught her how to dance. It was a weird old dance, but it was the first time someone ever taught her something that didn’t have an immediate value.

One night, while watching an old movie called _Some Like it Hot_ , they started a food fight, throwing microwave popcorn and truffles. AJ started it, but Aazee was quick to retaliate, and she felt it impossible not to join in, even as Aazee bemoaned the loss of “perfectly good edibles.” 

When it was over, and the living room was covered in popcorn and candy, dread covered Lilith like an ice shower. What a mess. One of them was going to yell at her. 

Instead, they let her sleep in another room she hadn’t noticed before. The bed had grey sheets and pink blankets with the softest pillows. She had slept on hay beds for so long, that she nearly cried at the comfort. 

That night, she didn’t have nightmares. 

When she awoke the next morning, the living room was spotless, but she was able to sleep in the room ever since. She’d slowly been adding pictures, since AJ had a very nice Polaroid camera he let her borrow, and she and Aazee spent three hours figuring out how to install a big white board so she could cover a wall with quotes from books she was reading. 

In their little moment, a microcosm in their section of the universe, the song changed to “Für Elise” and she heard familiar, slithering steps approach and she grinned. 

“Are you two listening to this old garbage?” AJ said, kicking down the door with a snakeskin shoe. “Let’s listen to some _real_ music.”

“Now, seriously, Crowley,” The blond one protested, but that seemed halfhearted as the other man put on a Queen record album. “Don’t Stop Me Now” played immediately, a sudden but welcome change from the classical.

AJ pulled Aazee from his chair and spun him around. “No time to gavotte, dear, it’s time to rock,” His hair, not properly styled, waved elegantly as he started head banging. 

“How on Earth can you call that dancing?” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, but with no real malice. 

“Lilith can do it, she’s got the hair for it, go for it,” The redhead encouraged, wiggling his body around. 

She only hesitated briefly before jumping on top of the sofa to put her all in a massive headbang that rock stars would awe at. She thrilled at the ache in her neck, and the gentle smack of the ends of her hair hitting her forehead. 

“Oh, look, she’s got it now,” The taller man said. 

“Do be careful-” The other said, but he was smiling. 

Lilith kept it up, and soon even Aazee was shimmying a little. 

AJ jumped onto the other sofa as the song continued.

_But life still goes on_

_I can't get used to living without, living without_

_Living without you by my side_

played. 

“You got your shoes on!” The blond bemoaned, but soon got back in the groove of the music, even head banging a little himself. 

With a wild laugh, Lilith collapsed back to the sofa’s cushions and watched the two men who had taken her in succumb to the music. 


	5. Proverbs 22:6

> Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.

It was finally summer, the Solstice decreed it, and Aziraphale had officially been housing Lilith for nearly two months. She had a full expansive wardrobe of the greyest and pinkest clothes in London, and a rigorous study schedule organized by Aziraphale’s reading requirements, as well as playtime dictated by Crowley. She seemed brighter and healthier.

But the word _official_ was misleading. She was still a runaway. She was practically a squatter, with full permission.

Aziraphale felt a shift, sometime after Crowley and Lilith’s little shopping excursion. He could sense love like he could sense good food, and Lilith’s feelings for them had morphed to a hesitant trust to true trust, and then to love to a parent. He’d felt a similar love when Adam Young confronted Lucifer, and when his true father returned.

But it had never been directed to him before, not even from Warlock, which was probably for the best.

He knew his own feelings for the girl, similar to how he felt when he saw Eve’s pregnant stomach, and to Adam Y. when he begged for a solution to the apocalypse. It wasn’t an exact replica of love it was more a need to protect. But he soon felt his own emotions metamorphose into love for the girl. 

He was never quite sure how to read Crowley’s affections. It had taken him nearly six thousand years to realize he was quite special in the former demon’s life. 

(Something about Crowley always seemed like he had an audience, a sea of adoring fans. He wouldn’t blame those fans in the slightest. Who knew how other people felt Crowley’s banter and attention?)

Assessing Crowley’s love was almost impossible. The only place he’d ever felt it before was in Crowley’s garden, the scared but eager adoration from the plants radiating off them. Stepping into that lush green the night after the Apocalypse was like stepping into a warm of hot cocoa. 

So, in bed one night, he asked. It was the night after they worked together to miracle Lilith a new room for her own, and to do it slowly without the risk of tipping off their past offices drained them somewhat severely. They sat in bed in their pajamas, almost ready to nod off. 

“Would you be terribly opposed if we adopted Lilith?”

“‘We’?” 

A flush that burned like hellfire, he assumed, scored up his cheeks. “I apologize for being presumptuous.”

“I’m just clarifying, no need to apologize,” Crowley said. “You want me and you to adopt Lilith?”

“Well, I just want the best for her,” Aziraphale clarified back. “Maybe we don’t necessarily _have_ to adopt her, at least not yet.”

“We can’t adopt her, Angel,” Crowley said, not dissimilar to the way he informed him that his bookstore had been set ablaze. “She’ll grow old, and we won’t. She’ll _die_ one day, and we won’t, barring the Third Coming. There would be too much to explain.”

He internally debated continuing the argument, saying that they could glamor themselves to look older or change their base forms. But he could imagine Crowley arguing he’d “perfected” his current state” or some such nonsense. They could also remove themselves from Lilith’s memory, but the thought of that twisted in his gut like when he accidentally ate rotten food. 

“That’s fair,” He decided to be lenient, for now. Best to tackle one thing at a time. “But I’m afraid I must insist that we work on getting her emancipated from the community. While it would metaphorically take a miracle, we couldn’t _literally_ do one because of all the mechanics involved.”

His friend curled his upper lip, “If we can’t miracle it, that means lawyers.”

“Didn’t you have a hand in lawyers?”

“Just jury pool corruption,” He waved a hand. “Lawyers are a monster all their own.”

“That’s not fair, some might want to help,” Aziraphale defended. He’d heard some good stories, and had even helped with a miracle or two when things seemed dire to protect humans from a corrupt flaw. 

“Whatever,” He dismissed. “You want to adopt her?”

“I just want her safe,” He corrected once more.

“And where do you think she’s safest?” 

The question hit hard, “I’m not sure.” 

“Then we should ask her.”

They both quieted. 

“We probably couldn’t do worse wit’ her than we did with Warlock,” Crowley said, sleep soaking each letter.

Aziraphale huffed, “He turned out perfectly normal, thanks to the two of us. I’m sure we’d pull off that same balance with Lilith if need be.”

He turned to make another point, but Crowley was already asleep. With a tender sigh, Aziraphale snapped the light off, and went to bed himself.

The proposal seemed fair, so they worked together to prepare the conversation.

“Lilith,” Aziraphale began one morning as they ate breakfast. “How would you feel if we tried to take steps to make you more official in our household?”

Lilith almost perked up, “More chores?” She insisted on pulling her weight, and being “necessary”. Even when they assured her that wasn’t the case, she kept pleading. Both Aziraphale and Crowley felt a little miraculous cleaning never hurt anyone, so they just told her they handled it every night. Which was true, but not in the way she considered.

“Nah, darling,” Crowley said, sprawled across his chair magnanimously as he ate French toast. He had to improve his table manners since Lilith joined them. Normally, his hands were a frenzy of shoving food in his mouth. “See if we could get you emancipated from your father and the community. If you want, we can get you to a foster care family. Maybe... even have you stay here until something’s settled, if you like?”

“I don’t have to leave?”

“You leave when you want to,” Aziraphale reassured.

“Or when you turn 18,” Crowley said. “Then you’re out the door regardless.”

Her eyes went wide, and Aziraphale huffed, “Don’t frighten the poor girl. Lilith, he’s joking. You’re welcome here always.” 

“Oh my,” Lilith said, looking a bit overwhelmed. “You want me to stay?”

“We’d love for you to stay,” He said. “But we want to do what you want. So, what do you want?”

She didn’t hesitate, “I want to stay.”

“Cool, Lil, you can squat like me,” Crowley said, shoving fruit into his mouth with the intensity of a rabid rabbit. 

“It’s not squatting if you’re both welcome,” Aziraphale insisted. “You’re houseguests.”

“If I’m staying more officially, what about AJ?” 

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look. “You _have_ been here a while,” He mused.

“Aye, but I haven’t heard much insistence that _I’m_ welcome.”

“Must I remind you that you have your own flat- Oh my, Crowley, your plants. Are they alright?”

“They know better than to wilt,” He dismissed. 

He sighed but moved on, “Of course you’re welcome here, dear boy.” 

Crowley didn’t react much to that, but he thought he saw a smirk in eyes through his glasses. With a solemn hidden sigh, Aziraphale mourned the loss of sight of his companion’s eyes.

They were never really quite sure how humans saw Crowley’s eyes. They never seemed to react much, but his friend never really allowed people to see them recently, recently going back several thousand years. He understood the urge to hide them from Lilith, but the girl barely batted an eye at the idea of a bookstore that’s goal was to never sell a single book. Maybe she’d just think Crowley was eccentric enough to wear such contacts. 

“Well, if we’re going to start making things official, we should celebrate,” Aziraphale smiled, noticing the love and adoration radiating off Lilith. “Who wants crepes?”

“Dear _someone,_ we just ate,” Crowley said.

“Maybe we can walk through the park,” Lilith suggested. “Feed the birds?” 

“Good idea,” Aziraphale agreed. “Then we can work off breakfast in order to make room for crepes.”

Even though he was wearing his sunglasses, Aziraphale could tell his dear friend was rolling his eyes.


	6. desire and reason

> "Desire and reason are pulling in different directions" -- The Metamorphoses 

Crowley, safe outside of Central London, inched the speedometer closer to 80. Lilith sprawled across the backseat.

“You’re going to crash,” She warned.

“Oh ye of little faith,” He admonished as Aziraphale gripped the “oh shit” handle. “I am a very good driver.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” She said. 

“Feel free to walk, small child,” He dismissed. 

“You get used to it after a bit,” Aziraphale tried to assuage.

“Don’t lie to the girl,” Crowley admonished, causing Lilith to giggle.

He got them to Tadfield in one piece and to the little cottage on the corner. There were a lot more flowers than before, as well as little pieces of gizmos and gadgets spilling out of the trash can, as well as a singed television set next to it.

“I see Mr. Pulsifer tried to update her television,” Aziraphale said. 

“Why are we here?” She asked, getting out of the car. 

Aziraphale adjusted his bow tie once they were all breathing the countryside air. “A friend of ours lives here. She knows many things.”

“And she’s a bit of good luck,” Crowley added. “Plus there are some kids nearby and you can muck about with them.”

Somewhere deep in his chest cavity, something lurched when he saw Lilith grin in glee at the prospect. That wasn’t normal kid excitement about playing, that was unbridled joy at an opportunity long denied. 

He didn’t want to kill people, not really, but the “Messiah” deserved some sort of retribution for whatever the Heaven he did to Lilith. 

“You’ll like Anathema,” Aziraphale said as they walked to the door.

“She’s a witch.”

“A witch?” Lilith’s eyes went wide. “I thought they weren’t real.” 

“There’s a lot more to this universe than what your community taught you, Lilith,” Crowley said enigmatically. 

Before he could knock, the door swung open, revealing Anathema in her 70s flower top and bell bottoms. In her efforts to find her identity outside of Agnes Nutter, she’d gone through many fashion cycles. For the past two months, she’d been exploring 70s fashion. Crowley was supportive, and often took her thrift shopping. It was one of his favorite eras. 

“Hi, bastards,” She greeted. “Maybe give me a bit more warning next time.”

“Hello, Anathema, lovely as alwaysss,” He let the sarcasm drip from his forked tongue, which he made sure to flash since Lilith wasn’t looking. 

Anathema threw a playful sneer, then caught sight of Lilith, who almost hid behind him. “Oh, hello. Who are you?”

“Didn’t see that coming?” He asked with a snicker, but then turned to Aziraphale as the gravity of that hit him. It was probably a bit odd that Anathema didn’t get the fact they’d have company. But oddness was normal to them all, so he couldn’t gauge how _truly_ odd it was.

“This is Lilith,” Aziraphale recovered. “She’s staying with us for the time being. Lilith, meet Anathema Device.” 

Anathema didn’t say anything for a mo’, just stared at her. 

“Hi,” Lilith said hesitantly with a wave.

Anathema still said nothing.

There was a loud crash from inside, causing both Crowley and Aziraphale, to move Lilith behind them.

“Darling, I think I broke the coffee machine again,” Newt came out, holding gizmo pieces in a way reminiscent of bad American sitcoms when a klutzy character crashed about.

“Hello, Newton,” Aziraphale greeted. “Um, Anathema, are you quite alright?”

That seemed to shake Anathema out of it. She offered a small smile, “They said your name was Lilith, correct?”

“Yes, I picked it myself,” She said proudly. “They helped.”

“It was my idea,” Crowley took credit. He could feel the angel roll his eyes beside him.

“I have some friends I’d like you to meet,” Anathema’s smile was still there, but it was slightly off. A warm shiver ran up his spine, more than just the witch’s smile was off. “They call themselves the Them, and they’re right now playing in the forest. I’d like to talk to these two right here. Mind coming back in about an hour?”

Lilith looked to both him and Aziraphale. “Have fun, darling,” Aziraphale said, a kind dismissal. “Shout if you need us.”

“How will you find me?”

“I’m very good at finding people, don’t you worry,” Crowley said. “Do what the crazy lady says.”

That seemed to irritate the paleness out of Anathema’s cheeks. “Leave, I need fewer witnesses.” 

Lilith waved, “Nice to meet you both” and took off into the woods.

“Who’s that?” Newton asked.

After moving themselves to the kitchen table and explaining the entire story properly to the young couple, Anathema sighed, “I kinda wished we hadn’t burned Agnes’s book right about now.”

“How so?”

“There’s something about her aura,” She explained. “Remember how I told you that everyone has an aura?”

“Except for Adam,” Aziraphale recalled. 

“And us,” Crowley said, but that, he knew, was a gross oversimplification. She couldn’t see their auras because they didn’t have any, but she saw their wings in their “natural state” even though they kept them furled. But he just wanted to be a shit disturber.

Their slightly witchy friend sighed but didn’t bother to correct him again, “That’s not the case with Lilith, her aura is so-” Instead of words, she shoved her hands at each other without them touching, like forcing magnets of the same alignment to touch. 

“Scrunched?” Newt offered, eating a bag of chips. 

“Compact?” Aziraphale suggested as he sipped tea.

Crowley didn’t bother to add, just sat sprawled across their comfy sofa.

“Exactly,” She said. “It was so close, like a coil about to spring, very powerful. Plus it was in a rainbow, I don’t think I’ve seen that in a human before.”

“Perhaps she’s gay,” He hummed.

“That’s not how auras work, you demonic dick,” Anathema snapped. Crowley grinned at her, almost trying to tempt her into flying across the room to give him a good slap.

“Play nice you two,” The peacekeeper admonished. “In your experience, Anathema, what do you think that means?”

“I think she’s harboring power, but I don’t know what that means.” She looked frustrated, and her hands clenched into fists on her bellbottoms.

“You said it’s scrunched,” Crowley played nice. “Maybe it’s a symptom of her repression within her cult.”

“It did start from demonic influence,” His best friend agreed. “Perhaps the situation is odd but not uncommon in someone like Lilith.”

“Maybe we can nip over to the cult at some point,” He responded. “Give it a look over like we did Beryl’s.”

“You two have the weirdest dates,” Anathema said. 

Crowley hissed at her for the hell of it. She just rolled her eyes but Newt fell off his chair in utter fear, which reassured him a bit. 

“Oh dear,” Both Anathema and Aziraphale sighed. Then Anathema straightened, “It’s been nearly two hours, are the kids alright? I feel like disaster _must_ be imminent.”

“Philia,” Aziraphale whispered, then looked at Crowley. “I feel a new sense of Philia coming from the forest.”

“Gross,” Newton offered, adjusting his glasses.

“That’s platonic love, darling,” Anathema corrected.

Crowley shared a look with Aziraphale. What could possibly be happening in the love to cause the Greek word for platonic love?

He exhaled sharply, “Let’s go find out why.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you wanna chat, I'm on tumblr [@aziraphalefallen](https://aziraphalefallen.tumblr.com/) if you wanna let me know your thoughts!


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